


setting fires to keep you warm

by bipaladin (viktorcreed)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Internal Conflict, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Psychic Abilities, and also psychic, he's really torn up about it, klance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9879362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viktorcreed/pseuds/bipaladin
Summary: It isn’t like Lance was intentionally keeping this part of himself a secret or anything, it just hadn’t ever been that big a deal for him. He has been this way his entire life it really wasn’t that special. He still felt painfully, woefully, ordinary—and sometimes even less so. He was just Lance.Psychic abilities aside.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been bugging me for ages. I thought writing some Klance porn based off of it would help so I wrote [I wanna build you up and take you apart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9856736), but it did the exact opposite. It just made me need to write this even more. So I did, or I started this anyway. I have an idea on the direction of the fic, and it’s mostly plotted out already, but still. Updates will be sporadic whenever I find a spare moment to write. Please enjoy!

It’s kind of annoying that everybody is looking at him like he’s done something wrong. Well not everyone. Hunk looks thoughtful and vaguely worried, because the yellow paladin worried about everything. He was a good friend that way.

 

“What?” Lance whines, all of the staring could just stop now, thanks.

 

“What do you mean what?” The words are harsh, bitter and still slightly shell-shocked. Lance shouldn’t be surprised, or bothered, it’s just the way Keith always talked to him. Or at him was more like it. Still, it sets him on edge immediately.

 

“Y’know, I’m getting real tired of your attitude, dropout.” Lance hisses right back.

 

“If I’m a dropout then so are you!”

 

“Hey I dropped out to defend the universe you just fu—”

 

“That’s enough!” Shiro’s deep authoritative tone cuts through the tension and Lance cringes at the sound of it. He hates being reprimanded, especially by Shiro, it’s not like he’s trying to screw up. “I think everyone is just a little surprised, Lance.” Shiro’s tone is much gentler this time and Lance suddenly feels guilty, even if he hasn’t technically done anything wrong.

 

This whole situation is so _uncomfortable_. And almost entirely Pidge’s fault.

 

Lance had pretty much given up completely on eating anything other than weird alien food. It wasn’t always bad, especially not when Hunk was cooking, but still. It was all so, well _alien_. He missed earth and not just for the food, but he missed his family too. He misses his home.

 

So when Pidge and Hunk announced that they have a surprise and dinner isn’t some weird gelatinous alien goop but a burger, like an actual bacon cheeseburger, Lance is so happy he maybe cries a little.

 

See it turns out the replicators aren’t complex enough to put together something like a burger, but with the help of Hunk’s tireless research into alien cuisine and Pidge’s mad technological skills, the two of them are able to recreate the ingredients needed to make something as life changing as a bacon cheeseburger.

 

It’s the most beautiful thing Lance has ever eaten.

 

Everything is so magical, and Lance is so happy, before it all goes to shit. Because in his excitement, in the midst of his pure joy, the hair on the back of his next stands up and that familiar power surges through him. Everything in the kitchen starts rattling before they kind of hover for several moments, just wobbling in animated suspension, until Lance gets a hold of himself and everything comes crashing back down.

 

And now everybody is looking at him like _he’s_ the alien.

 

“Surprised, would be an understatement.” Pidge mutters and Lance glares down at her.

 

“Lance,” Allura starts frowning thoughtfully. “How exactly did you do this?”

 

Lance can’t look her in the eye, he’s so uncomfortable. He stares at the floor and shrugs; he can’t even bring himself to make some lewd comment about how skilled he was in various fields. It would have been complete with a, totally charming and not the least bit sleazy—so just shut-up, Keith—eyebrow waggle.

 

“I’ve always just kinda been like this.” He mumbles lamely at his shoes.

 

“So, are you like a mutant?” Hunk asks bluntly. He’s a lot of things—fiercely loyal, an amazing chef, literally the best friend a guy could ask for—but delicate is unfortunately not one of them.

 

“What? No!” Lance cries offended. “I’m just a little psychic. It’s no big deal.”

 

“So you can read minds?” Keith snarks, deadpan and wholly unimpressed.

 

“Only sometimes.” Lance sighs wishing he could be sucked into a wormhole and maybe get sent back in time to before his life got so damn complicated.

 

“Seriously?” It’s Pidge again, she squeaks the word out sounding awed and looking impressed.

 

Lance hates this so much.

 

Normally this kind of attention, any attention, is good. All eyes on him, that’s the way he liked it. Except for when it wasn’t on his terms. Now it just feels so uncomfortable he wants to crawl out of his skin. He hates every moment of this.

 

“So, you’ve had these powers this whole time and didn’t think maybe you should be using them to help win this war?”

 

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut. _Up_.

 

God, Keith was the worst.

 

“It’s just never really felt like a weapon to me.” Lance flushes and refuses to look anyone in the eye. This is so embarrassing, he’s so ashamed.

 

He almost wants to go back to being that cargo pilot nobody gave a second glance.

 

“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

 

“Well your hair is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen, so I guess that makes us even.”

 

“Are you incapable of taking anything seriously?”

 

“Settle down.” Shiro calls firmly and the fact that it makes Keith actually shut up is a hollow victory. “Keith is right.” He continues delicately. And ow, ow, ow, that hurts. Shiro never says Lance is right. Shiro never takes _his_ side. “Learning to use your abilities could give us serious leverage against Zarkon, even if you aren’t using it as a weapon. You never know when they could come in handy.”

 

“But, I’ve never been able to call on them voluntarily before. I wouldn’t even know where to start with that.” Lance admits because he can’t imagine feeling any lower than he already does.

 

“Tch, why am I not surprised?” Keith snorts derisively.

 

Lance stands corrected.

 

“The Upuens.” Coran pipes up from somewhere behind Lance. He’s actually been so quiet this entire time Lance forgot he was even in the room. Coran has never been this quiet before. It makes this entire situation feel even more awkward, makes Lance feel even more out of place.

 

That wormhole plan was looking more and more viable by the second.

 

“Yes, the Upuens.” Allura agrees readily. “That’s a fantastic idea!”

 

“What’s that?” Pidge asks.

 

“The Upuens are an ancient race revered for their telepathic and telekinetic abilities.” Allura explains. “They are a peaceful but very secretive race. I’ve never actually meant one myself. But if anyone can teach Lance about his abilities, it’s them.”

 

Maybe Lance doesn’t want to learn about his abilities. Maybe Lance is perfectly fine with the way things are already. Lance doesn’t say, because he knows it wouldn’t make a difference.

 

\--

 

“So, have you ever read my mind?”

 

“…”

 

“Are you reading it right now?”

 

“…”

 

“I’m thinking of a number between one and twenty what is it?”

 

“…”

 

“Did you get it?”

 

“…”

 

“It was twenty-seven.”

 

“…Hunk…”

 

“Did you get it?”

 

“Hunk, just shut-up already!” Lance yells perhaps louder than he means too.

 

He’s sitting in the hanger bay resting his back against Blue because it’s comforting. Or at least it was until Hunk had showed up asking a million and one different questions Lance has no idea how to answer.

 

“Look,” Lance sighs defeated. He pinches the bridge of his knows in an attempt to alleviate his tension headache. It predictably doesn’t work. “I can’t read minds. It isn’t like that. People don’t think in novels.” It’s way more than he’s willing to admit but Hunk is staring at him like a kicked puppy and Lance feels like such a dick.

 

“So what is it like?” Hunk asks tentatively.

 

Lance frowns thinking the question over. He can’t avoid this conversation forever; it’s been three days already. He might have been able to stretch it for a week at least but he’s tired of carrying this pressure around everywhere.

 

“I just get like vague impressions, I guess. Of like, emotions or memories. And sometimes I hear whispers or like echoes.” Lance admits with a shrug, feeling restless and anxious and insecure and a bunch of other things he _really_ doesn’t want to deal with.

 

“So you can tell what I’m feeling?” Hunk asks, intrigued.

 

“Sometimes. Rarely.”

 

“What about these whispers?”

 

Lance cringes, he doesn’t want to explain this. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. He wants to cry. ( ~~He wants his mom~~.) But he won’t because that would be pathetic.

 

“Listen, buddy, I’m sure this is really difficult and all. I mean everything I know about psychics I learned from the X-Men and it never seems to end all that well for Jeannie. But I’m your best friend. I just wanna help.”

 

When Hunk says things like that, all soft and warm and sympathetic, it’s so syrupy sweet like honey. Lance finds it’s hard to say no to someone this kind.

 

“It’s like…” He trails off for a moment trying to sort out his words and explain this whole shebang to the best of his abilities. “It’s almost as if someone is just whispering what they’re thinking into my ear.”

 

“And other times, well…” Lance hesitates not sure he wants to share this particular detail before ultimately swallowing around his nervousness and forging on. “It’s like I can hear them in my own head, like they’re my thoughts. Except they’re not.”

 

“Hence the echo.” Hunk says thoughtfully.

 

Lance nods.

 

“Okay, so how do you do the mind moving thing?”

 

Lance shrugs.

 

“Dude, I have no idea how I do any of this stuff. It’s just happens!” Lance throws his hands up in the air before folding them across his chest.

 

“Yeah but when do they happen?” Hunk replies pointedly.

 

Lance makes a stressed noise in his throat.

 

“I guess, I do the mind moving thing whenever I’m really, really, happy.” He confesses. “And the reading minds thing is completely random. Sometimes it happens a few times a day and then nothing for weeks, or months even. Other times I can’t even hear myself think, because everyone else is too loud.”

 

There’s a long tense silence while Hunk muses over everything he’s just learned.

 

“How come you never told me?”

 

Well that’s an easy question to answer actually. It’s because Lance is a freak but he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s a freak. Or at least he didn’t want anyone to know.

 

Everybody knew now and there wasn’t anything he could do except learn to live with it.

 

\--

 

“You better not be reading my mind.” Pidge says darkly from her spot coding something or other into some machine that was attached to the ship.

 

“I’m not!” Lance yells flushing and indignant.

 

“Then why are you staring?” Pidge mutters. She’s probably really only paying forty-percent attention to Lance while she works, which is actually sort of impressive when you think about it.

 

“I wasn’t!” He was. But not intentionally. He just happened to be staring off in the direction of Pidge while he was lost in thought. “I was thinking.”

 

“Funny, didn’t know you knew how.” Pidge responds sarcastically without missing a beat.

 

“Ha. Ha.” Lance grumbles dryly.

 

There’s a long stretch of silence where Pidge goes back to working and Lance returns to thinking. But silences weren’t really Lance’s thing; it’s only a matter of time before he breaks it.

 

“So, any word on how long it’s gonna take us to get to these _Upeens_?” he asks conversationally, as if this very question hasn’t been plaguing him and stressing him for the past week.

 

“ _Upuens_.” Pidge corrects firmly without looking up.

 

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

 

Lance can practically feel her rolling her eyes.

 

“Could take a while, Coran says those guys were extremely secretive. Like league of shadows level paranoia. They had a kind of alliance with Altea back in the day. But back in the day was like ten thousand years ago so,” Pidge shrugs.

 

Lance lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

 

\--

 

“You’re an ass.” Lane tells Keith bitterly. Because it’s true.

 

Keith, predictably ignores him. Which is worse because it’s humiliating. It’s like he’s taunting Lance. He’s too good to reply because he’s already got Lance’s number, or goat, or however that phrase went.

 

Things between them are complicated.

 

Because Keith is annoying and rude and completely gorgeous.

 

And Lance _hates_ him.

 

Except for when he doesn’t.

 

“Did you say something?” Keith asks blandly.

 

Lance wants to punch him in the throat. And maybe kiss his face a dozen times.

 

Keith just knows how to push all his buttons. He knows just how to rile Lance up. How to get Lance seething and aching for a fight.

 

It’s so humiliating because after it’s all said and done Lance is still totally gonna jerk off thinking about him later.

 

But then that’s not new. He’s been doing that since the academy.

 

“I hate you.”

 

\--

 

Shiro is bound to catch up with him eventually, Lance knows that. But he can damn sure avoid the inevitable for as long as humanly possible.

 

This part of himself, it isn’t anything he’s ever shared with anyone except his mother. He doesn’t know how to handle people knowing about him. These powers, abilities, whatever you wanted to call them—Lance calls them a curse but he’s also particularly fond of the term burden—only worked fifteen percent of the time.

 

The other eighty-five percent he was just as ordinary as everybody else.

 

Except now he didn’t get to be ordinary, now people actually expected him to do things. Like defend the universe. He’d always wanted to be a hero, to be just like Shiro. —Lance snorts softly, that rhymes. Maybe he missed his true calling as a rapper. —But now when faced with the reality of the full extent of a responsibility like this, Lance just wants to crawl under a rock and stay there for the rest of his life.

 

He isn’t like the rest of the team. Shiro is a born leader. Keith was a total and complete douchecanoe but also a wicked fighter. Pidge and Hunk were crazy smart.

 

And Lance was just…Lance.

 

“Hey, Lance.” Shrio calls from the other end of the hall.

 

Lance seriously considers just bolting, maybe pretending like he never heard Shiro call after him in the first place.

 

“Sh-Shiro, hey! What’s good? What’s popping?”

 

What’s popping? Seriously?

 

Pidge is right. He’s hopeless.

 

Shiro, thankfully, chooses to just ignore that particular comment. “I wanted to talk to you.” He says instead. “About training.” He adds just to clarify things. As if he and Lance talked about anything other than training, saving the universe, and lectures on the merits of teamwork and getting along with Keith.

 

Keith never got any lectures.

 

Fucking Keith.

 

“Oh, what about training?” Normally Lance would start in with the false bravado, chess puffed out, bragging about all the things he’s managed to accomplish since the last time Shiro or Coran have given him an update on his progress. And to be fair Lance is making a crazy amount of improvement, he works hard constantly pushing himself, and he does get results.

 

But it’s hard being as confident as he was before he was left this exposed to his team. He can’t summon up his usual swagger.

 

It’s pathetic.

 

He’s pathetic.

 

“You were really good out there today. You’re getting faster all the time.” Shiro says it like it’s a fact. Like he’s not even surprised by this. It makes Lance swell with pride. “Your aim is even better too.”

 

“Better than Keith?” Lance asks pointedly.

 

“That’s not the point.” Shiro sighs.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Lance says grinning. His chest feels so warm, not even the immediate reaction from the spark thrumming in his veins is enough to deflate his good mood.

 

“Lance, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.” Allura calls from the end of the hall.

 

Lance’s grin turns wide and flirty.

 

“We’ve finally found a solid lead on the Upuens. Coran is plotting the course now; we’ll be there within three solar cycles.”

 

“Oh.”

 

His mood drops like a stone. His chest tightens and his throat constricts. Lance wants to cry. He wants to run away. He wants to hide.

 

“That’s so…awesome…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't write dialogue heavy fics often, ~~I almost exclusively write porn~~ so let me know in the comments what you think. Is there a particular piece of dialogue that you _lovelovelove_? Or hate with the burning fiery passion of a thousand suns?


	2. Chapter 2

Lance sits up on his knees in bed, doesn’t bother making excuses to himself because it’s a waste of time and it’s getting increasingly difficult to lie to himself about this. This routine is achingly, embarrassingly, familiar at this point and he doesn’t feel like denying himself anything.

 

They were just twelve hours away from Upue now. Turns out simply dreading this entire situation, bemoaning his fate, and just generally wishing he was given some kind of cosmic do-over didn’t actually do anything to solve his debacle.

 

Debacle, that was such a fun word.

 

Now Lance has to figure out a way to calm his nerves before he spontaneously combusts, or something. Which, upon further reflection, actually sounded quite nice all things considered.

 

He lets out a sigh as he removes his sleep shirt, he feels too warm to keep it on. Lance feels warm all over, woke up sweating and hard.

 

Last night Lance had dreamt of Keith, which wasn’t all that weird. He had lots of dreams about Keith. Sometimes they were in the middle of an intense battle against a Galra fleet and Lance had to come to the red paladin’s rescue, because he was super cool and smart and strong and whatnot.

 

But most of the time they were just…well sexy dreams.

 

This one had felt different somehow, more vibrant and way more intense. Everything was so vivid, so beautiful. It felt more like a work of art then a wet dream.

 

It isn’t the first dream Lance has that’s like this, but these are so rare. They feel almost sacred somehow, precious and impossible.

 

Dreams like this almost make Lance forget what an absolute ball-sack Keith could be and generally was.

 

  _Almost_.

 

Still, this fact doesn’t stop Lance from trailing a hand down his chest passed his stomach—he almost has abs now, Lance has never had abs before, all this training is doing his body damn good—and into his sleep pants.

 

He hisses to himself as he wraps a loose hand around his cock, leans forward too brace himself with his free hand, and rolls his hips up into fist. His temperature is rising, he feels so hot and slick all over, as he thinks about his dream. As he thinks about Keith.

 

Keith, with his stupid hair and his beautiful eyes and his _prettypretty_ lips and his God-damned voice, like velvet or melting chocolate, or something ridiculously rich and deep.

 

Fucking Keith.

 

Lance moans, bites down on his lip, and thrusts into his hand. He’s so hard it’s unbearable, he’s hard and shaking and sweating as he remembers his dream. Remembers the sounds Keith makes, low and harsh, like gravel, like his throat is completely wrecked because he can’t stop growling.

 

Growling at Lance.

 

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

 

The blue paladin falls forward, he doesn’t have any strength in his arms left to hold himself up, he’s so weak. All of his energy is going into his hips as they _thrustthrustthrust_ , his too hard dick into his tight fist. Lance presses his face into the fabric of his sheets and moans into his mattress, it’s all he can do to keep himself quiet.

 

He’s gonna cum, doesn’t have the patience to drag this out, he’s too far gone already. If he tries holding out now his heart might implode from the stress of it all. Lance is so stressed—stressed by the burden of his responsibilities, by the echo of Keith’s voice growing ‘ _fuck_ ’ under his breath—from the snap of his hips and the drag of his cock head against his sheets.

 

His dick is fucking _leaking_ precum and it’s so vulgar, made more so by the way he’s rubbing it up and down his shaft. Getting his cock _slickslick_ wet makes the slide of his hand even better. He’s so hot, right now. He’s burning up.

 

Fucking Keith.

 

Lance whines into his mattress and uses his free hand, the one he isn’t vigorously fucking, to pull harshly on his hair. It’s just a cheap knockoff, pales in comparison, to the way Keith had pulled on his hair in his dream. Keith had pulled on Lance’s hair _hard_ as he fucked into Lance’s mouth and down his throat. —Growling, growling, _growling_ as his hips snapped forward and the weight of his balls bumped against Lance’s chin.

 

But it’s enough, just enough, to get his hips moving faster and his blood boiling just so as he cums. And cums, and cums. Moaning and sweating and shaking. There might also be tears in his eyes too, but that’s neither here nor there.

 

His mind blanks out from the power of his orgasm and for a few blissful moments he manages to completely forget about the raging dumpster fire that has recently become his life.

 

\--

 

They don’t take their lions down with them onto Upue, which Lance really hates because Blue is such a comforting influence for him right now. Not that he’s going to admit that out loud.

 

The whole team goes planet side along with Allura, Coran stays behind. There is probably a reason for it all but Lance wasn’t really paying that much attention when it was being explained. He was too busy having a very silent, very manly, panic attack.

 

Whatever, he could pretty much fill in the blanks or just make shit up as he went along. That was his style anyway.

 

The surface of Upue is a graveyard. Lance kind of expects it to start raining just for the dramatic effect. There are great buildings, with weird alien architecture—it might have even been considered beautiful if Lance was the type of person who considered anything architectural—in various states of ruin. It doesn’t look like anyone has lived there for at least a thousand years.

 

The natural vegetation of the planet had more or less taken over, there were great purple and red vines crawling all over the place. And trees so high they had to have been around like a thousand or something, Lance doesn’t know much about trees but he knows it takes ages for them to get this big.

 

This whole scene is so sad; Lance can’t even be relieved by it. All of that culture, all of that history, was just gone. It’s an entire civilization lost over a thousand years ago, with nothing to show for it but a couple of old buildings and some faintly cinnamon smelling trees.

 

**“Four thousand years ago actually.”** The voice of a women calls out to them.

 

It’s so shocking Lance let’s out a completely _masculine_ squeak and jumps roughly ten feet in the air. “Ahhhh, what the fuck was that?” he cries out, landing in a defensive crouch bayard instinctively morphing into a rifle.

 

“What was what?” Pidge asks wearily.

 

“That creepy voice.” Lance whispers, in case they’re overheard, searching as covertly as possible for where the voice was coming from.

 

“I didn’t hear anything.” Keith snorts, because he’s a punk.

 

“Still, we should be careful.” Shiro says from somewhere behind Lance. “We don’t want any surprises.”

 

_Ha!_ Suck it, Keith!

 

**“They are not able to understand me.”** The voice responds again, and Lance flinches despite himself. **“I am surprised you can.”**

 

Lance frowns, he doesn’t understand any of this. “Why not? You’re speaking plain English aren’t you?”

 

**“English?”** The voice asks, sounding about as confused as Lance currently feels.

 

He nods, still searching through the trees for whatever, or whoever, was talking to him. He’s surprised the voice can carry at all through the dense atmosphere. “English, it’s the language you’re speaking.”

 

Hunk frowns at him slightly and Lance frowns right back. This whole situation was so fucked.

 

**“I have not spoken any language in a very long time, boy.”** The voice replies, and Lance’s frown deepens. Seriously, what the shit was going on? **“In fact, I am not entirely sure any of this is actually happening. It has been so long perhaps I have finally gone insane.”** The woman chuckles softly and it’s the creepiest fucking thing Lance has ever heard.

 

“Hey, buddy,” Hunk calls, his tone is high and placating. It’s a tone usually reserved for confused old people. “You okay? Is the sun getting to you or something?”

 

Lance blinks trying to figure out just why his friend was looking at him like _he_ was the crazy one. “What? I’m fine, dude.”

 

“Really?” Pidge asks sounding nervous. “Because you sound cracked.”

 

Lance scoffs, offended. “Me?” he turns to glare down at Pidge. “What about the voice?”

 

“What voice?” It’s Keith this time and he’s looking at Lance just as wearily as everybody else is. It makes Lance wanna punch him in the teeth because it also feels somehow dismissive at the same time.

 

“The _voice_ ,” Lance says sounding stressed. Why were they all acting so weird couldn’t they hear that strange voice, the one that sounded like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Actually, looking back on it now Lance isn’t actually sure he heard anything. He just knew something was talking to him, which meant it could only be coming from… “…in my head.”

 

Pidge hums thoughtfully with a quick nod. “Yeah, okay, he’s officially lost it.”

 

“Hey, I am not crazy!” Lance shouts, he’s passed offended and is just angry now.

 

**“No crazier than I am.”** The voice murmurs in Lance’s head.

 

“Y’know…” He snarls back in response.

 

Allura steps forward until she’s standing next to Lance and turns to address the rest of the team. “Actually, I don’t think Lance is crazy at all. My father often spoke of the Upuen psychic network; it’s possible Lance has tapped into it. Maybe there are a few still living here.”

 

**“Only I remain.”** The voice sighs sadly to Lance. Could a disembodied psychic voice sigh? Well, it sounded _sad_ anyway.

 

Lance looks from Allura to the rest of the team. They’re all staring at him, waiting for him to say something. And he could just say nothing, pretend he temporarily went insane. He could just lie, and then they could leave this graveyard and with no one to train Lance they’d all just forget about his mind powers. And then maybe things could finally get back to normal. No one would no.

 

**“I would.”**

 

Lance sighs, takes a deep breath and says “It’s saying it’s the last of its kind.”

 

“What happened?” Keith asks.

 

“It’s says ‘shut-up, Keith’.” Lance smirks. That actually made him feel a little better.

 

“Be serious, Lance.” Shiro says firmly.

 

Lance grins, unapologetic. “I am. I seriously want Keith to shut-up.”

 

Keith flips him off.

 

**“About four thousand years ago the Galra came.”** The voice starts and Lance can already guess where this story is going. He doubts it will have a happy ending.

 

\--

 

Lance is sitting in the ruins of what looks to be an ancient coliseum. It’s made from glittery black stones, and besides the vaguely similar design to that one famous amphitheater in Rome it still feels completely alien. The rest of the team is out exploring the ruins of Upue while Lance sits cross-legged in front of the very last Upuen.

 

Toolva, the Upuen, is short, only a few inches taller than Pidge, with deeply brown skin and random patches of purple glittery scales in intricate patterns dusted over her face, chest, and arms. She has large black eyes, sharp cheek bones, and her nose and mouth are slightly elongated into a snout.

 

**“This is a focusing stone.”** Toolva explains, placing a small blue stone roughly the size of a quarter into the palm of Lance’s hand. It’s completely smoothed over, and when Lance looks closely, he realizes is actually several different shades of blue, ranging from a deep ocean blue to a light sea blue-green. It shimmers constantly shifting its colors and pulses with what feels like life. **“Already you can sense its power. you are more astute than you appear.”**

 

Lance frowns feeling vaguely offended. “Thanks…I think.” He closes his hand around the stone and gives it a squeeze. It feels warm, warmer than a stone should. “What does it do?”

 

**“It does a great many things.”** Toolva says watching Lance with her black eyes. It’s unnerving. Possibly because he can tell that Toolva is still vaguely certain that none of this is real, that she’s still trapped alone in this graveyard. Or maybe it’s because when Toolva speaks to the team, in gruff monosyllabic replies, her voice is deep and raspy; but when she speaks without reservation inside of Lance’s mind it’s with his mother’s voice. **“But that is not for you to worry about yet.”**

 

“Okay,” Lance sighs. He was hoping she wouldn’t speak in Jedi half answers and riddles. He is, predictably, wrong. “So what can I do with it right now?”

 

Toolva grins, or at least Lance thinks it’s a grin. He’s not entirely certain, but the corner of her mouth does tick up in what appears to be amusement. **“You will use it to strengthen your mind. I have many things to teach you, young padawan.”**

 

“Y-you’ve seen Star Wars?” Lance chokes out in surprise.

 

The Upuen chuffs slightly in what Lance suspects is a laugh. **“I see through you.”** Toolva answers and Lance frowns thoughtfully.

 

This whole mind peering thing was a trip and a half.

 

He shakes his head, decides dwelling on this will only lead to a headache, and instead chooses to focus on the training. “How do I use this to work my brain out?”

 

Toolva shakes her head. **“Not brain, _mind_. Your brain is a vessel; your mind is the key.”**

 

Lance let’s out a long, slow, tortured sigh. “The more you talk the less sense you make.”

 

Toolva hums in agreement. Which is frustrating because if she knows she isn’t making any sense than she should just make sense. **“Our ways are very different, padawan. In** **order for me to teach you, you must first understand my culture. You must enter my mind, as I have entered yours.”**

 

Lance groans low and frustrated. “I don’t know _how_ to do that. It’s the whole reason I’m here.”

 

**“You will learn.”** Toolva says so firmly Lance almost wants to believe her. **“Use the stone to clear your mind.”**

 

“Okay,” Lance nods, he isn’t quite feeling determined just yet, but he is a proud practitioner of the ‘fake it ‘till you make it’ philosophy. “how do I do that?”

 

**“It is a focusing stone.”** Toolva answers simply. **“You must focus.”**

 

Lance breathes deeply, closes his eyes, and focuses as hard as humanly possible.

 

Nothing happens.

 

This was going to be a long fucking day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my very first time inventing an alien race, it's super fun. I can see why people do this kinda thing for a living. You guys should let me know what you think in the comments. Unbetated, all mistakes are my own. @viktorcreed on tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

The most frustrating thing about this, is that Lance is actually honestly trying. He isn’t phoning it in or half assing in the slightest. He’s trying because it’s the right thing to do, even though he really hates this. He’s still making an honest genuine effort. Because his team, and the whole universe really, need him. And he’s failing.

 

And the saddest part is, he isn’t even surprised.

 

He knew this would happen, he tried to tell his team, he tried to tell everyone. Psychic abilities sounded cool on paper and in comic books, but on Lance they were effectively useless. Because he was kind of useless. And that’s not even self-deprecating, because he knows he’s the blue lion and without him they can’t form Voltron. He knows. It’s just, beyond that he doesn’t really offer much.

 

It’s a hollow victory the fact that he’s right.

 

After a whole two days of concentrating intently on the focusing stone, Lance has only managed to get it to pulse and vibrate with varying intensity. The discovery delights him to no end at first because he can make the stone hum and warble out tunes in conjunction with the vibrations. He’s eager to show off this new trick to everyone.

 

Hunk is enthralled by this new ability, he sings ‘Hot Cross Buns’ alongside the stone and it warms Lance’s heart. He can always count on his best bro to be the coolest person in the universe.

 

Pidge seems intrigued by the concept but ultimately frustrates herself when she can’t get the stone to respond to her in the slightest, in her tiny palm it loses the shimmer of shifting tones and settles on a dull pale lifeless blue. It’s still pretty though, Lance thinks anyway.

 

Allura and Coran are both supportive if not a little placating. They make Lance feel like a little kid but it still strokes his ego just so, he’s still grinning about it when he bumps into Keith.

 

His grin melts into a smug smirk, as Lance proceeds to show off. He plays Mary had a Little Lamb for Keith, it’s the most difficult tune he’s managed to produce, and he plays it perfectly. Keith just blinks at him and says “That’s it?”

 

His tone is flat, unimpressed, and condescending. To anyone else it might have simply been neutral, but for Lance it’s cutting and dismissive.

 

After that he doesn’t really have the heart to show Shiro.

 

Lance shakes his head in an effort to clear out the negative thoughts. So whatever, maybe he sucked at this fine. But he was still awesome, he was Lance; legendary defender of the universe, ultra-cool ladies’ man. So what if he wasn’t getting this stuff? He still had beautiful, flawless, brown skin okay. And that took tons of hard work and dedication, so…

 

“ **You cannot succeed when you have already decided you will fail.** ”

 

He’s more or less grown accustomed to the presence of Toolva in his mind. It wasn’t nearly as unnerving now as it had been before. He isn’t exactly thrilled by it, but he doesn’t hate it either. It’s an experience.

 

“I’m trying.” Lance frowns feeling stressed. “This stupid stone doesn’t do anything.” The small blue stone pulses sharply in his hand as if offended.

 

“ **You must walk before you can run**.” Toolva advises and Lance’s frown intensifies. Toolva uses earth colloquialisms with an ease that unnerves him, it highlights just how alien Toolva is, and the whole speaking in his mother’s voice thing was still really freaky.

 

“At this rate I’m not even crawling.” He mutters darkly, trying to ignore the murky unease that he could feel settling in his gut.

 

He’s reminded suddenly of his very first flight simulation. Everything about the memory is flashing back to him in crystal clarity, he gets swept up in it. He can hear the system beeping wildly, notifying him of his impending failure, can feel the controls tight in his hands. He’s not just remembering this; he is reliving it in vivid detail. For a moment, he’s surrounded completely by this memory, gets swept up in the panic and desperation of screwing up.  His stomach is in knots; he feels like throwing up.

 

But beyond that, beyond that fear, there is a sense of freedom. Of complete satisfaction, like for once everything in the universe is lining up and showing him the way. It’s terrifying and exhilarating and so very right. Because this is what he was born to do this is everything to him. This is—all wrong.

 

This was not normal. This wasn’t right.

 

Because he’s not really here— _there_ in the flight simulator—this isn’t happening.

 

He’s still on Upue. The realization slams into him with the force of a speeding train and it knocks the wind out of him, his gut clenches accordingly. He dry heaves, unable to stop himself, the action causing goosebumps to raise in his skin and tears in his eyes.

 

Lance clutches at his abdomen and turns to glare daggers into Toolva’s black unblinking gaze. She tilts her head confused, she can feel his hostility but isn’t able to understand why he’s angry.

 

“You can’t just go rifling through a person’s memories like that.” He says through gritted teeth feeling betrayed and still slightly sick.

 

“ **My apologies**.” Toolva confesses simply but somehow Lance doesn’t believe her.

 

He tells her so and she shrugs. The action is a swift jerk of her shoulder, it’s too sharp and angular to look natural, it’s more like a poor imitation of human nature.

 

This display doesn’t annoy him as much as he figures it ought too. If anything, it calms him down a little. Reminds him that Toolva isn’t trying to be a pain, she’s just an alien. And from Lance’s experience alien customs were strange and confusing to say the least. But she is making an effort and that’s at least enough for him.

 

A thought occurs to him suddenly and he wants to ask but isn’t sure he should. Then he remembers his thoughts are not his own at the moment and Toolva is probably aware of exactly what he’s thinking so denying it would just look really stupid.

 

Still he’s nervous to even ask. Toolva waiting patiently for him to voice his thoughts, however, does help him get there in the end.

 

Lance bites his lip and whispers softly, “Could you, maybe, show me, my mother?” The last word comes out as a breathy squeak but it’s out there nonetheless.

 

“No.” Toolva speaks the word, in that deep gruff voice of hers, out loud instead of in Lance’s head and it’s so shocking he almost forgets to be mad.

 

“Why not?” he whines. Picking through his inner most thoughts and memories was all fine and dandy without his permission but when he asks suddenly it becomes a problem?

 

This shit was bananas.

 

“ **B-A-N-A-N-A-S**.” Toolva sings softly in his head. It’s so startling he can’t help but laugh.

 

_God, damn you, Gwen Stefani!_ Lance was trying to be serious here.

 

Toolva lets out that breathy chuff thing that Lance equates to laughter and he frowns at her. “ **I cannot show you your mother**.” She tells him, and Lance defiantly thinks “ _But you can steal her voice_.” at her as pointedly as possible. Toolva doesn’t appear bothered by that in the slightest. “ **I have already given you the tools to see her for yourself**.”

 

Toolva was trying to incentivize him.

 

“Well, crap.” Lance mutters darkly to himself.

 

“You are making progress, won’t be long now.” Toolva tries to encourage him but Lance still feels pretty hopeless. “Now, from the top.” She instructs and Lance sighs, a great long-suffering sigh, as the stone in his palm warbles out the first bars of Toxic by Britney Spears.

 

\--

 

That night Lance lies awake, sleep evasive. He’s too tired to do anything but too wired to actually sleep. He replays the day’s events in his head once more trying to make sense of it all. Somehow, by playing with the stone he’s starting to learn some control over it. Now he doesn’t even need to be touching it to make it dance, and he can life it back into his hand again with little more than a thought. There is some sort of connection there, although decidedly not one that he understands at all.

 

Toolva is, unsurprisingly, no help at all. She simply calls the connection a bond and leaves it at that. As if that was an explanation of some kind. It was barely even a definition, they’re synonyms. She’s basically a thesaurus with limited vocabulary. Lance snorts derisively and feels immediately a little guilty about it, it’s not Toolva’s fault really. They’re having some communication issues, obviously, and Toolva does what she can with their own mental bond, but it can only go so far.

 

Lance groans and turns over in his bed so that he’s staring at his stone resting on the night stand. It glows softly, shifting in deep blue shades, he focuses for a moment and the glow grows brighter. He sighs feeling instantly settled.

 

As a general rule Lance doesn’t spend much time thinking about his family, because it’s painful. He has no idea when or if he’ll ever see them again, but now that he’s hearing his mother’s voice again his family is all he can think about. Toolva’s words, spoken in his mother’s strong commanding voice echo in the back of Lance’s mind.

_‘I have already given you the tools to see her for yourself.’_

Lance sighs, feeling more than a little silly, but also like he doesn’t have anything left to loose. He reaches for the stone and it springs up, as if of it’s own accord, and lands softly into his palm, he closes his hand around it now accustomed to it’s warm familiar energy.

 

It’s a focusing stone, so all he has to do is focus ….theoretically….

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update with a kind of cliffhanger. See y'all next time, bye~


End file.
